Don at the Bridge
by M. Marchand
Summary: Don at the bridge where there was just a suicide.


Disclaimer:  
"A vague disclaimer is nobody's friend" - Willow, Buffy the Vampire Slayer  
I do not own the characters Don or Charlie nor do I have any rights to anything related to the TV show Numb3rs. I plead fair use and claim only my own writing and characters.

Acknowledgments:  
My utmost gratitude goes out to my beta team:  
Omi - The most wondrous beta ever for 5 years and counting.  
Cyn - For amazingly insightful and detailed beta feedback and for challenging me to take a 'throw away' fic and turn it into something compelling  
Xanthia - For not just beta but for crossing my Ts and dotting my Is  
And to those who inspired me to write a suicide fic by doing such an intriguing job themselves especially ShadowGraffiti  
(The prologue to Crimson Failure is so compelling it stayed with me throughout this process - Thank you.)

* * *

A jumper.

Don stared down from the bridge at the scene below. A body, surrounded by uniforms and coroners, was partially covered with a sheet. He pulled off his sunglasses and rubbed his tired eyes. This was a bad end to a lousy workweek.

As he headed down the service stairs to the concrete storm channel below he hoped this wouldn't take too long. The bridge was less than a mile from Cal Sci so he figured he'd stop by the house afterwards to check in on Charlie and his father. He hadn't seen or heard from them in days and with his crushing caseload lately he'd been absent from their semi-regular dinners more often than he would have liked.

At the bottom of the stairs he flashed his badge to the man waiting for him.

"Agent Don Eppes, FBI."

"Detective Walter Thompson, Pasadena P.D. Thank you for coming so quickly."

"Detective Thompson, can you tell me what's going on here?" Don asked. "I was only told you had a John Doe Jumper. I'm not sure what assistance the Bureau can provide on this."

"Agent Eppes, I didn't ask for the Bureau. I asked for you."

The detective looked a little uneasy but continued on.

"We didn't find any ID on the body but one of our officers said the man looked familiar to him from the aftermath of a crime scene he'd worked a few months back - that big bank robbery that went south."

Don winced at the memory. He'd been shot and one of his agents had died that day. It had been rough on all of them but Charlie ended up particularly traumatized. Anyone outside of law enforcement who viewed the carnage at the crime scene would have suffered after effects but Charlie had felt responsible as well. He knew his equation had sent them into that shootout; that his brother could have been killed if the bullet that grazed his arm had landed only a few inches to the left; that statistically Don wasn't likely to be so lucky the next time around. Faced with all that Charlie had escaped into mathematics the same way he'd done when their mother was dying. Don had beaten himself up later for not protecting his little brother from the bloody reality of FBI life.

"He recognized him but didn't know who he was?" Don asked.

"That's just it." The detective said quietly. "He did. That's why we called you."

Don's chest clenched as he realized what the man was implying.

The detective stepped aside, allowing Don to approach the body.

Don heard buzzing in his ears and suddenly the air felt thick and hard to walk through.

The uniforms and the coroners all backed away so he could see. Beneath the sheet dark unruly curls lay in a jumble on the ground in a puddle of blood.

Suddenly there was no air, no breath, no power of speech. He dropped to his knees as if he'd been punched in the gut hard.

His mind cried out in disbelief but couldn't deny what his eyes were seeing.

Charlie...

He wanted to rush to the body and tear back the sheet to prove it wasn't so but his arms and legs wouldn't obey. He could only sit on the ground staring at the still form before him and the blood... Charlie's blood...

Unbidden, Charlie's voice came to him in his head. Don's mind automatically replayed the last words he'd heard Charlie speak. The answering machine message had been brief yet cryptic and Don, being so busy, hadn't given it a moment's thought at the time. Now it was like a lifeline to his younger brother.

"Don, it's Charlie. I'm going away... I can't... I just can't talk about it. I thought you should know that Dad misses you. He needs you. Don't be a stranger to him, okay? I've got to go... Bye..."

Was that Charlie's version of a suicide note? Don wondered in a haze. Warning him that his father would need him in the aftermath of his death? Knowing that this second death coming less than a year after their mother's might destroy him?

Don felt sick and lightheaded and had to brace his hands on the ground to steady himself.

Charlie's smile, Charlie's laugh... Their last argument... The last time Charlie beamed when Don complimented him in front of his FBI team... All of this flashed through Don's head in mere seconds. It was followed by memories of their childhood together, especially the resentment he had felt at the onus of having a genius kid brother. A wave of guilt and regret washed over him. He'd give anything to do those days over, to be a better brother to the boy who'd obviously idolized him for no good reason other than the fact he was his big brother. He'd give anything for it to not be Charlie under that sheet.

Gracelessly he stumbled the final yards to the spot where a life had been cruelly ended before its time. With trembling hands he grasped the edge of the sheet. For a moment he seemed unable to will his hand to move but with a deep breath he tore it aside.

Only then did he let the tears flow, burying his face in his hands.

"It's not him," he said weakly. "It's not my brother."

Epilogue:

Don sat in his father's house an hour later, alone but somehow comforted by the surroundings, as if the house was imbued with his family's presence even when they weren't around. He even felt his mother's presence lingering there as well.

He'd found the calendar in his father's office with the notation 'Mexico!' and a line drawn through the current week. He'd vaguely remembered his father talking about going deep-sea fishing on his friend Art's boat but the dates had never registered with him.

He'd also seen a notation that read 'Charlie - D.C.' on the previous Wednesday but no mention of when he'd be back. Don wondered if it was another NSA consult. That would account for Charlie not being able to say where he was going.

He'd called every number he could think of, looking for Charlie, and got nowhere. Larry and Amita had admitted knowing Charlie went back east but were unable to tell him when he was returning.

Don heard a vehicle outside and looked up for a moment but dismissed it knowing it couldn't be Charlie since Charlie didn't drive. After a moment though he heard noises on the porch and leapt to his feet, practically running to the front door.

Fresh from the airport shuttle, Charlie walked into the entry and dropped his luggage on the floor just in time to get almost knocked over by Don rushing in to hug him tightly.

"Charlie!" Don exclaimed, overjoyed and relieved at finally seeing his younger sibling alive and well.

Startled, but glad to see his brother as well, Charlie returned his brother's embrace. After a moment when Don didn't let go he pulled back, joking "Ok, Don, at some point I'll need oxygen to survive."

"Don't even joke about that," Don said with a tremor in his voice Charlie had never heard before.

Charlie felt dread creep into his heart when he saw Don's expression. He looked as if someone he loved had died. Charlie knew that look. The whole family knew that look.

"Oh, God... It's Dad isn't it?" Charlie's voice sounded like that of a small boy.

"No, no... Dad's fine... Everything's fine..." Don rushed to assure him. Charlie let out a breath and started to calm down. Don was sorry he'd alarmed him and wanted to apologize but it was hard to form sentences at this point, he was so overwhelmed.

Don simply reached his hand behind Charlie's neck, amidst those unruly curls, and pulled his brother towards him until their foreheads rested against each other.

"No... buddy... I'm just so glad you're okay." Don choked back the tears and, unable to contain his joy any longer, pulled Charlie into an embrace again.

"I love you, buddy."

"I love you too, Don."

Don held his brother close, the anguish of the day finally fading, his heart filling with gratitude for second chances.


End file.
